


Secrets Not to Keep (You)

by navaan



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Dubious Consent, Hydra Steve Rogers, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Post-Secret Empire (Marvel), Rough Sex, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: The real Captain America's back. Tony Stark's alive. They are friend's again. But the man locked in that cell - the one with Steve's face and Steve's voice who took over the country for Hydra is not out of their lives and memories.





	Secrets Not to Keep (You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laire (laireshi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/gifts).



“He wants to see you,” Steve says, and his face is so tense that it looks like his jaw’s going to snap into two any minute now. The fingers holding the coffee mug are stiff, just moments away from breaking the thing.

Tony doesn’t have to think about the “who” although for a blessed moment he thinks this is about Doom having left Tony a calling card in an attempt to “talk.” Doom has been busy though from what little Intel Tony has on his movements. He's finally given up on running around in the stolen armor, but the fact that Iron Doom ever was a thing still makes Tony's skin crawl. He'd envisioned a legacy for Iron Man -- and many names had come to mind but not that one.

His throat goes dry. 

“Why? Does he want to see an AI. He doesn't know I'm alive?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I just know that he said so several times. I can _guess_.”

Tony reaches over to take the mug from Steve's fingers before it can be crushed. It’s a limited Avengers edition with Iron Man and Captain America in the front -- Cap’s smiling. Tony’s very fond of that particular image.

“Is that why you dropped in on me?” he asks and pretends his skin isn't crawling. “To talk about _him_? I'm not keen on meeting...”

“No,” Steve admits quietly. “That's not why I'm here.”

Tony knows he must have asked to meet Tony in private to pay him back some of the money he’s wired into Steve’s account while Cap was on his latest road trip -- still trying to find himself, to atone, to forget Hydra-him ever was a thing. It’s a game they play when they need to find reasons to talk because any other time Steve would just make sure to have a bad night at poker and let Tony win it back -- only to have it back in his account a week later for one reason or another.

It’s a dance they’ve been dancing quite often in the course of their many years of knowing each other: they are too close not to try and build bridges after they’ve ripped open chasms between each other. It's always two steps forward, one back and then spin around.

This time’s different though. 

There’s no chasm. They had been back on better terms _before_ \--

Before Steve had been replaced by another Steve and Tony had died for a time, like you do when you’re a superhero. 

Steve’s still atoning for something he hasn’t done. Tony’s still atoning for something he let happen.

“How about you stay here for tonight?” Tony offers and nods towards the living room sofa that can hold Thor, the Hulk, and Steve at the same time if it has to. 

Steve blinks up at him, and Tony's throat goes even drier. There’s a hint of familiar interest crossing Steve's face that Tony’s not sure he’s ready for, that at other times he had longed for. It brings up the idea of strong hands grasping his hips and pushing him around, of deep red love bites and teeth marks that are the morning-after reminder of passion that’s just this side of violence when the spark flies over. 

“We could order food,” he says and makes it sound normal -- like old times. Before all that.

His reward is a genuine smile and a nod. “Sounds good, Tony. Thank you.”

While Steve walks over to the sofa to sit down and make himself right at home, Tony’s thoughts drift back to the last time he’d seen a similar scene.

There are things he should admit. At the same time he doesn't want to destroy this tentative equilibrium between them. He'd rather be Steve's friend than the someone Steve can't even stand to look at.

* * *

_Before_

“The Tower’s sold?”

“Things have been tight,” Tony replies and shrugs. “I’m operating the Avengers from a warehouse.”

Steve throws him a careful look. They haven’t talked this through at any stage -- that Tony, after all, he did when Wanda’s spell for a time turned him into someone with fewer moral hang-ups, is back to leading a team of Avengers. Some very young Avengers.

Patiently but inevitably, he awaits the judgment. They should probably at some time talk about it all: the lies, the broken trust, the betrayal. Not everything’s clear in his mind. Some things have slotted back into place like pieces of a puzzle, others swept off the table.

“It's a young team. Will take some work to make them Avengers,” Steve says. The statement is understated and simple and filled with an ocean of meaning.

When Tony looks up, and their eyes meet, Steve’s watching him straight on, not flinching at all when he’s caught or masking that he’d been staring. Heat rises up Tony’s neck. 

He’s used to scrutiny. He’s used to being watched. He’s even used to Steve keeping a close eye on him. Over the years, they gave each other many reasons to watch closely -- as friends and sometimes adversaries.

He still doesn’t want to talk about the lingering tension. 

”We could order in. Food and conversation, like old times,” he suggests because he isn’t sure what else to do with Steve’s intense gaze on him. He shouldn’t be feeling off-balance now that Steve’s here and their friendship seems to be back on track.

“Sounds good,” Steve agrees, but his intense gaze lingers. “I could stay the night.”

The comment is innocent enough that Tony nearly misses it and all the implications that go with it -- because this is Steve, for Christ’s sake! They’ve fallen asleep together thousands of times stuck in the Quinjet... 

It’s only when Tony realizes Steve’s watching with the calm attention of the battle read soldier if his comment draws a _reaction_ from him that his eyes snap back to Steve’s face and notice a different sort of tension there. It’s been years. He never thought he’d _see_ this _acknowledgment_ and feels his eyes widen.

 _That’s_ a reaction.

For Steve, it’s the sound of a gun that starts the race he’s been waiting for.

Tony is pushed back against the wall so hard, his head pumps against the plaster painfully. But he has no time to complain. He can barely grunt before dry lips are sealed above his and his famously genius brain _stops_.

By the time it restarts, his first thought is: _Steve’s lips are no longer dry._ Their kissing has turned that deep and messy hot that leaves no room for that.

One of Steve’s hands is in Tony’s hair, and the other is pinning his arm to the wall.

Chests heaving with the need for air, they stare at each other. Tony has trouble believing this has just happened -- like this, so quickly, without them even talking about it after years of _not_ making a step forward for fear of ruining everything.

“You’re not mind-controlled, are you?” he asks after his second attempt to find his voice.

Narrowing his eyes, his eyes flashing indigo with that passionate flare that Tony knew was just a shade away from anger, Steve says: “I’ve never been more myself than right now.” His face is terribly calm.

He looks like a man ready to take on the whole world.

Tony swallows. His throat’s even drier than before but he finds his voice. “Okay, yeah, good then, I… we need to...”

Steve, grabs his arm tighter and pulls his face closer and kisses him with harsh insistence. Does he notice how his hands are grabbing Tony’s hips in a possessive hold that’s just one step away from painful? Does Steve know how firm his grip is? Is he that distracted that he doesn’t notice he’ll leave bruises if he’s not careful?

Primal need shoots through Tony -- arousal rising with it, as the kiss continues and escalates into touching and Tony finds himself manhandled towards the sofa. 

“Steve,” he breathes flirtatious and delighted, “If you had said something before, I’d...”

“I’m making up for lost time,” Steve nearly moans against the side of Tony’s throat, “and I’ll make sure we won't waste any more. You’ll feel it, Tony.”

“Feel it,” he repeats, irrationally turned on by the sinister meanings he could read into the words. 

Steve’s harsh grip as he presses Tony down onto the sofa’s only the overture, Tony realizes, when Steve reaches impatiently for Tony’s shirt. 

“God, Steve,” he whispers and helps him get the shirt open as fast as possible before the buttons go flying. Not that he’d mind. Another time perhaps. “Wreck me,” he whispers. “Make me feel you for days.”

With a moan Steve’s on him, covering him with his body, pressing him down with his weight, kissing, touching, undressing, leaving bruises and kiss marks as he goes. The last shred of control gone - now that he can channel it into controlling what they’re doing. 

They end up on the sofa; Tony's naked on his back, his legs wrapped around Steve's hips, his hands held in Steve’s long-fingered super soldier grip and pressed down to the left and right of his head. 

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” he’s chanting with every incredible possessive thrust.

“Ask me again,” Steve says.

He knows exactly what to say: “Wreck me, Steve. I want to know when I wake up tomorrow morning that this wasn’t just my imagination.”

Steve bites his shoulders, thrusting harder and faster, urging him with praise and kisses, into a crescendo of begging cries.

“Harder,” he whispers, not sure he could stand it, even less sure he can live without it.

“Tony,” Steve moans brokenly against his shoulder. “So perfect. So perfect for _me_.”

* * *

_Now_

Tony doesn’t go to see _him_ , of course. Steve does. And Tony’s sure to find himself an entry into the cell's 24-hour surveillance to make sure everyone’s alright.

Steve walks into the interrogation room.

The other Steve’s sitting at the metal table, hands cuffed with Vibranium steel alloy.

Even through the screen, Tony sees the way the tension rises. They are so alike that it’s off-putting even to them.

Then the other Steve smiles. “You do know that you’re the mistake. Mistakes can be undone. You were wiped off the face of this reality before. Can be done again.”

“Why do you keep asking for Tony?” Steve cuts to the chase.

A shiver runs down Tony’s spine. The obsession of Hydra's supreme leader Steve Tony's no less disturbing to Tony than Cap's inability to let that go.

“Is it true then?” the other Steve asks back, and he looks straight at the camera in the upper left corner, as if he knows Tony’s sitting there watching. “He alive? Did he get up from his Briar Rose sleep? Good.”

“Why are _you_ asking for Tony?” Steve repeats, his eyes narrowing, his shoulders tense. 

“He hasn’t told you, has he? Alive and already keeping secrets?” The other starts laughing. It’s Steve’s laugh.

“How do you know he’s alive?” Steve asks changing tactics.

The other laughs. “He’s Tony. I knew he would wake up. He always surprises us, doesn’t he? Keeping secrets. Hiding and yet an open book to us. So obvious when he's keeping things away from us... Have you asked him about me?”

Steve leans back to study his other. His gaze is hard and 

“I have all your memories,” the other Steve says with a satisfied undertone. “Doesn’t it rankle that you have none of mine? You haven't dared ask Tony, have you?”

Hearing about that is more than enough for Stve. He gets up. 

Tony can imagine what he’s thinking: _Ask Tony what this is about._

He hides his face in his hands. Guilt’s an old friend, but the way he misses that brief moment of _being with Steve_ ’s unnatural and wrong. He wakes up sometimes hoping to see finger marks around his wrists and then punishes himself with not going  
to bed three times in a row.

“Give him my best,” the other Steve calls after his counterpart’s departing back, but he looks up at the camera with a knowing smile. “I’ll look him up when I can. As soon as I can.”

“Never,” Steve growls off-camera.

Tony cuts the connection. His skin’s crawling.

* * *

“He knows you’re alive,” Steve says without a preamble and Tony half expects it to be an accusation. 

_Are you in league with the devil?_

_No, but I miss his touch and want it to be yours. Does that horrify you, Steve? It horrifies me._

“How?” Tony asks, masking his unease behind a reason Steve’ll believe.

“I don’t know, and I need to. He must have…”

“People inside.”

“Who knows,” Steve admits, equally uneasy at the thought of Hydra being that close to their Supreme Leader. “Be careful. He has plans for you and... He's trying to maipulate us. I want you to be safe, okay?”

If he wouldn’t feel like crying, he'd laugh at the irony. 

He shrugs, unwilling to lie, unwilling to tell the truth. “Who knows what goes through his head.”

Steve’s hand shoots out to lace their fingers together. It’s a sweet gesture, and they both stare at their hands, entwined. Reassurance, caress, a pledge?

“You know you can tell me anything? If you want to.”

He tries to smile. He knows -- and knows he won’t. Not if it means Steve will look at him in disgust. But the truth will come out. “I was dead,” he says because it’s the one truth he can impart, “but before that, I didn’t have an inkling he wasn’t you. Not for a second did I know. And I should have known, Steve. I'll never forgive myself.”

Even admitting that much hurts. 

Steve squeezes his fingers tightly and says: “That’s because he is me. A worse me. A wrong me. A created me. He can hide.” 

It looks like that pains Steve as much as it pains Tony. 

He squeezes Steve’s fingers in turn, still feeling like a liar but trying to be supportive. They don’t let go.

“Can I stay the night?” Steve asks with a meekness that isn’t like him. His eyes flit away from Tony, too, as if he needs to know, but isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

The obvious reply to it, is, “No!” Because Steve doesn’t want to stay in the way that Tony wants him to. He says: “Of course,” because he’s not enough of a liar to deny himself the company he craves. 

It takes until then to register that Steve’s still holding his hand because his grip tightens.

“There’s something I have to say,” Steve says and he looks extremely uncomfortable too. 

_Here it comes_ , Tony thinks to himself, _when he wants more answers, and you’ll have to tell him the truth. Sorry, I fucked your evil twin, Steve. Although he did all the fucking actually. Can you still look at me._

“He’s me, you see. And the truth is I’m him too. Same but - different at the core.”

Tony knew the feeling. He still remembered the fallout from Wanda’s little spell that had turned his moral compass so effectively. He nods. “It wasn’t the real you though, doing all these things.”

That was what Tony had told himself after he’d come back from that.

“He’s a possibility,” Steve disagrees and straightens his shoulders as if admitting that part’s easy. “That’s where he came from. A _me_ as Hydra would have made it. That’s not…. He said to me he remembers everything. And… I… I'm the one keeping secrets, Tony.”

Their eyes meet, and Tony feels like a deer frozen in the headlights. Caught. 

God.

No.

“You remember too,” he states flatly.

Steve bites his lip and holds his gaze. He’s not running angrily. Not telling Tony he’s the terrible scum he feels like.

Steve’s still holding his hand. He doesn’t accuse. When speaks, he says: “I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

His stomach has dropped to somewhere beneath his feet. “No,” he admits.

Steve nods. “Thank you.”

There’s nothing Steve has to be sorry for, even less to thank him for, but they observe each other, trying to gauge what this means. 

“So,” Tony starts, “when you want to stay, that means…”

“With you.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, “I mean, yeah.”

They are still holding hands.

“You remember.”

“Yes,” Steve replies. “And it seems you do too.”

He nods and looks away, feeling naked and vulnerable. “Does that mean…?”

“He told himself he was trying to manipulate you, to hurt and use you.”

Hearing all that put into words and coming from Steve’s like a blow. Tony tries to pull his hand away. Steve holds him fast, and they both flush with all the memories that come up with the touch. They sit there red-faced, embarrassed and… “Oh,” Tony says.

“He was telling himself all that because he’s an idiot,” Steve adds. “And I was telling myself I should never make a pass -- because it was a bad idea because I’m a different kind of idiot.”

“Oh,” Tony says because there’s really not much else that comes to mind. “You’re not…?”

“I’m mad,” Steve says, “because I’ll never be able to forget that I had to be an evil megalomaniac to…”

Tony looks away again. Yes, _that_. He’ll never be able to forget that either. “It’s still a bad idea and…”

“I’ll be damned,” Steve half-shouts to cut him off, “if I’ll let him stop me.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees. They are still holding hands, still both embarrassed and uncomfortable. Nothing’s okay. Nothing’s ever going to undo the things that happened. “Let’s start over,” he suggests.

“Yes,” Steve agrees and traces the line of Tony’s thumb with his own, stopping when he remembers how _he_ used to do that. “Can I stay the night?”

“Yes, please,” Tony agrees.

Steve leans in for a kiss. It’s too tentative and sweet, all careful and kind -- and all wrong. Tony’ll learn to like it eventually.

They sit at the table, holding hands in silence until it gets too uncomfortable. Tony gets up: “I’ll order Pizza?”

“Sounds good,” Steve agrees. 

They’ll have to relearn the steps. 

If they can.

At the back of Tony’s mind another Steve’s laughing.


End file.
